


Infuriating

by VarjoRuusu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dorks, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Explicit, Post Hogwarts, Pure unapologetic fluff, Silly, Teacher AU, absolutely pointless, and lacking any plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 23:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: In which Harry hates tourists, Draco blushes, and shenanigans happen.Or:A bad summary about a Hogwarts Teacher AU that is nothing but pointless fluffy fluff.





	Infuriating

The Three Broomsticks was crowded. Not an overly unusual occurrence, but it was the middle of summer and Hogwarts stood nearly empty at the top of its hill in the distance. Hogsmeade itself wasn't a large settlement either, you'd have to stuff nearly every witch and wizard who lived in the town into the small pub to fill it this full. The only reasonable conclusion then, was tourists.

Harry hated tourists.

Frowning, he hunkered further down over his plate of steak and kidney pie and his pint of ale, recasting a mild glamour and a notice-me-not charm. He was really not in the mood for people to start recognizing him and kicking up a fuss, not today. And he didn't need to make the front page of the Prophet again either.

“Should have had lunch at the castle,” he mumbled to himself, surprised when someone dropped heavily into the seat next to him with a sigh.

“Talking to yourself now, are you Potter?” the stranger said and Harry squinted.

“Who are you and how did you know who I am?” he asked, annoyed not only that his lunch had been interrupted, but that now in about thirty seconds the whole bar would know who he was.

“Relax, scarhead, I'm not looking for trouble,” the other replied and Harry's eyes widened, darting around the room.

“Malfoy?” he whispered and the other grimaced.

“The glamour is there for a reason, you idiot,” Malfoy hissed and Harry nearly laughed.

“Yes, because you make such a fetching blue-eyed redhead,” he chuckled, relaxing and going back to his meal. Malfoy squinted at him, offended.

“Keep laughing, I'll start shouting your name,” Malfoy threatened and Harry smirked. A moment later Malfoy groaned, realizing how it sounded, and let his forehead fall to the table with a dull thump.

“Not a word, Potter, not a word,” he groused and Harry continued to chuckle.

It had been like this for the last year or so. Three years after the war ended, Harry had tried his best to become an Auror like he'd always planned, then one day he'd just walked away, packed a trunk, and apparated to Hogsmeade. He'd known Hogwarts was still short a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and when he'd turned up on the doorstep, sheepish expression in place and trunk behind him, the Headmistress had taken one look at him and hired him on the spot.

It was no secret that Harry was good at what he did, and soon he was the favourite teacher in the whole school, with a constant stream of owls coming in from parents who were in awe that he would be teaching their child to defend themselves. That had lasted about three years, until the Wizarding world finally seemed to move on. It was around then that Draco Malfoy, newly minted potions master, had applied for the position of potions teacher, at McGonagall's behest.

The first year had been difficult, with old animosities surfacing now and then, a few arguments and one memorable incident of throwing first year jinx's at each other down the length of the charms corridor before they'd settled into something like a friendship. Then, during a late night in the staff room grading papers, they had accidentally flirted. Malfoy had turned such a brilliant shade of pink that Harry hadn't been able to stop himself, he'd been flirting ever since.

It was all done in jest, of course, purely because Harry had finally found a way to torment his former rival that had the potential to go on forever. He was only twenty five after all, some things you didn't let go until you hit the big 3-0. He could still be childish.

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Malfoy asked, sighing as he leaned back, casting strong privacy and repelling charms around the table and then dropped his glamour, his grey eyes and white blond hair emerging, along with his scowl.

“Unlikely,” Harry shrugged, grinning as he dropped his own glamour. “Seriously though, how did you know it was me?” he asked.

“Potter, you're good at Defence. You're good at Transfiguration. You're even occasionally good at Potions, and surprisingly adept at Charms, which I'm lead to believe you inherited from your mother, but you lack originality. You always used the same glamour.”

“I do not!” Harry protested but Malfoy just shook his head.

“You turn your hair chestnut and your eyes brown, make your nose look like Weasley's, and put a cleft in your chin. Every time.”

Harry blinked, staring at Malfoy. He didn't really used the same glamour every time, did he?

“Well...” he muttered. Malfoy smirked.

\- - -

The staff room was quiet, deserted but for the two of them. The entire castle was quiet, in fact, seeing it was almost Christmas and most of the students had gone home. Harry was floating somewhere high above the quidditch pitch, ignoring the work he was supposed to be marking, when Malfoy spoke.

“Potter, in all this time you've been flirting with me, have you ever actually considered doing something about it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice bored.

Surprised, Harry looked over the top of his reading glasses, squinting at Malfoy. He'd had sight correction the year before and no longer needed his regular round glasses, but even magic could only do so much.

Malfoy was sitting in his favourite chair, sideways, legs draped over the arm in a very un-Malfoy like sprawl, a roll of parchment open on his lap and a red self-inking quill in his hand. The end had been chewed, an odd habit Harry had noticed when Malfoy started teaching at Hogwarts. He'd certainly never chewed his quills when they were students.

His entire demeanour was attempting to come across as uncaring and bored, but Harry could see the hard set in his shoulders and how his left foot was twitching subtly. Well, the Hogwarts motto advised against disturbing sleeping Dragons, but Harry had never been able to resist poking at something potentially dangerous and explosive. Perhaps he could resist a bit better than Hagrid or George, but still…

“Why, Malfoy, you looking for something?” he asked, lowering the parchment in his own hand and casting a very obviously appraising look over Malfoy, grinning when he saw the colour rising in the other man's cheeks.

“Don't be daft, snot head,” Draco snapped and Harry only grinned wider.

“I think you are, Malfoy, I think you really want to know if I mean it or if I'm all talk,” Harry said.

“You forget,” Draco snorted, “I was there the last time someone accused you of being all talk.”

That had been a memorable night at a ministry gala. Some tiny old witch didn't believe that Harry was much of a wizard and had done everything he did on pure luck. While this was mostly true, Harry had taken a decent amount of offence and cast a Patronus that had somehow managed to overturn several tables and drench the witch in punch. Ron and Hermione had to drag him out of the building.

“Ah, dear old Mrs. Gibbly. I wonder how she's doing?” Harry sighed.

“Kicked the bucket last year,” Draco said absently.

“Such a shame.”

Silence descended for a few minutes then Harry sighed.

“I don't know, Malfoy, I honestly flirt with you to rile you up, you know that. I haven't every really thought about it beyond that,” Harry admitted and Draco tossed his parchment and quill aside, sitting up and meeting Harry's gaze.

“I have,” he said quietly and Harry blinked. Then he blinked again.

That certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting, but honestly…

“Well,” he shrugged, grinning widely as he slumped back on the chair casually. “Then maybe you should do something about that.”

Draco sputtered, his face turning even more red, if that were possible.

“Potter!” he snarled and Harry laughed, pulling his thing gold glasses off and tossing them aside.

“All right, all right, don't get your little Slytherin knickers in a twist,” he said with a long suffering sight as he levered himself out of his chair and crossed the short distance. “Have to do all the work around here.”

“You are infuriating,” Draco said, though his tone was missing it's usual venom. He sounded nervous, and likely with good reason. It wasn't every day that Harry Potter settled himself in your lap after all.

“Well?” Harry smirked and Draco growled, his fierce sense of rivalry not to be pushed aside for a bit of nerves. He reached up, one hand tangling in Harry's messy mop of hair while the other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

Harry grinned, leaning forward easily as Draco tugged and they met somewhere in the middle, their mouths slotting together, slightly awkwardly at first, then perfectly as Harry sighed, easily slumping forward on Draco's lap and twining his arms around the other man's neck.

“Infuriating,” Draco muttered against his lips and Harry just chuckled.

“My room's closer,” he said, slightly out of breath, laughing as Draco's hands found their way inside his robes. It was only fair, his were already inside Draco's shirt, tracing patterns on cool skin.

Later, when the had collapsed on Harry's bed in a tangle of sheets and sweaty limbs, Draco laughed. It started as a quiet chuckle, then turned into a full bellied laugh as Harry watched him with amusement, leaning on one hand.

“You know how long I've wanted to do that?” Draco asked, rolling on his side to watch Harry.

Harry shrugged. “A while?”

“Potter.”

“What?”

“Ten years, Potter. Ten bloody years,” Draco scowled and Harry chuckled, leaning over and kissing Draco deeply.

“Well I supposed we have some catching up to do,” he said with a smirk and Draco grinned in return.

\- - -

Neither of them were paying enough attention at the Christmas banquet later that week to see galleons changing hands between the other Professors, or the knowing smirk on McGonagall's face.


End file.
